Melting Ms Frost (20 page)

When she continued to stand there and stare, he pushed himself upright and, grabbing a canvas bag from one of the panniers, he crossed the road towards her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

‘I’ve come to steal you away.’

‘Pardon?’ she said, thoroughly distracted by all that leather and how well it moulded to his body.

‘You owe me dinner. I’ve come to collect.’

‘Now?’ Annabel felt her eyes pop. ‘It’s nearly eleven!’

‘Guess we’ll have to settle for a late supper then.’

She should have known he’d jump right on her earlier invitation, charge in, give her no opportunity to over-think it or change her mind. But at the moment her mind seemed to be in total agreement with her body, eager to send her down the path of destruction. Was she really ready to let this go further?

‘Fine. Where?’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady as she started to rattle off a list of local, late night places they could try. Aidan stopped her.

‘We’re going to my place. Hence the transport.’

‘Your place?’ Oh, no, no, no, her brain warned: on his territory meant in his control. Meanwhile her body was nearly self-combusting with anticipation. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to discover a major problem with his plan. ‘I don’t think so. There’s no way I can get on that –’ she pointed to the big bike ‘– in this.’ She indicated her tight pencil skirt under her mac.

‘No problem.’ Aidan gave one of his lopsided smiles, the ones she had little defence against, and held out the soft canvas bag. ‘I brought leathers.’

Of course he had. She stared at the bag, her pulse banging in her ears.

‘Annabel. It’s not going to bite.’

‘What?’ she muttered, her gaze focusing on Aidan’s face.

‘You look as though I’m handing you a sack of snakes. What’s the issue?’

He knew damn well what the issue was. The man was too clever not to know. He knew what reaching out for that bag, getting on that bike, and letting him take her home signified. He knew, and he was laying down the challenge. She could see it in the tiny kick up at the corner of his mouth, the glint of determination deep in those clear eyes.

And she knew right then that this was decision time. This was where she had to choose, once and for all.

And for once in her safe, boring, regimented existence, she was going to break her rules and live a little. She was tired of fighting her attraction to the man, the excitement he offered. She’d never been on a motorcycle, for God’s sake. Didn’t know if she was likely to ever get the opportunity to do so again. And even if she did, what were the chances that she’d get anything anywhere near as sexy as a leather-clad Aidan Flynn to go with it?

‘No problem, then.’ She said, aware of her skippy heartbeat and trippy pulse. Taking the bag, she turned to push through the door again. ‘Give me five minutes.’

Rather than traipsing all the way back and unlocking her office, she nipped into the customer loos to change. She phoned her mother first, keeping the conversation brief and avoiding any unwanted shrieks of excitement by telling her she had a staff meeting with her head barman.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. ‘You’d better know what you’re doing,’ it cautioned her. Of course she knew what she was doing. It wasn’t as if she was going in blind. She knew the risks, as long as she kept her eyes open and her guard up, she could stay in control of this.

Opening the bag, she found a black biker jacket, some sort of thermal jersey, and a pair of leather trousers. She wondered briefly if they were Aidan’s but discovered the moment she pulled them out that, apart from the jersey, the leathers were not only much too small, but also decidedly feminine in style. Although they were clean, the leather bore traces of wear that told her they weren’t new. Whose were they?

She removed her mac and suit jacket first, pulling the jersey and leather jacket on over her shirt. Zipping it up to her neck she discovered it wasn’t a bad fit. She pulled off her footwear, shimmied out of her skirt and pulled the leather trousers on over her tights. Stepping back into her ankle boots she checked out her reflection in the full-length mirror and nearly stumbled. Wow! Who was that black-clad biker babe looking back at her? She turned this way and that, astounded at the way the leather flattered her figure even though it was a little loose fitting. She especially liked the sexy edge the high, narrow-heeled boots gave the outfit, making her legs endless. But there was something not quite right, something a little off. Taking out the clip holding her hair in its usual tight twist, she shook out the long locks, fluffing it around her shoulders. That was better. Now she definitely looked more biker chick than kinky librarian.

She couldn’t help but feel a thrill run through her when Aidan caught sight of her. He stilled, those amazing eyes narrowing in on her with the intensity of a big cat sizing up its prey through the tall grass. Dressed as she was, she found it impossible not to swagger a little as she crossed the road.

‘Not bad,’ he said, running what she now saw was a critical stare over her from head to toe. ‘A little flabby in places.’ Annabel’s swagger stumbled a bit as she gasped in outrage. Was he judging her? ‘The leathers,
a mhuirnín
,’ he qualified with a grin, letting her know he’d baited her on purpose. ‘They’re a little on the large side. The better the fit, the better the protection.’

‘Oh. Whose are they?’

‘They’re not anybody’s.’ He took the canvas bag that she’d stashed her folded clothes and handbag in. ‘I keep spares handy.’

Spares. Of course he did. For all the women who undoubtedly threw themselves in his path.

‘For dates?’ The question slipped out before she could stop it, sounding much needier than she’d have liked.

He looked up from where he was rearranging the contents of the panniers and crooked a brow at her tone. ‘Yes, for dates. And for friends.’ He gave her a slow smile that reached places she didn’t know she had. ‘And especially for lovers.’

Lovers.

‘Are you jealous, Ms Frost?’

Yes. Surprisingly. ‘I’ve got nothing to be jealous about, Mr Flynn.’

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s try these for size.’ He indicated a pair of sturdy flat boots and folded gracefully into a crouch at her feet, wrapping one hand around the heel of her boot.

‘Oh, that’s OK,’ she said uncertainly, looking down at the top of his bowed head, resisting the pressure she felt at her heel. ‘Won’t mine do?’

‘At a push, but I’d feel better if you were properly kitted out. Let’s try them. If they’re too big you’ll be better off in these sexy little things.’

So he
had
noticed the heels. She tried to pretend that that didn’t send quite such a thrill through her.

She yelped as he took advantage of her distraction to pull her foot off the ground and rest it on his thigh. She flailed her arms as she cast around for something to grab on to. That mop of glossy hair was the obvious choice, right there in front of her as it was. The same with those wide shoulders – with black leather stretched across them, they looked like a sturdy option. But she couldn’t trust her fingers to behave and she didn’t want to embarrass herself by fondling him in the street. In the end she went with resting one hand on the saddle of the bike and watched as Aidan pulled on the zip feature at the front of the boot. It could have been her imagination, but it seemed to take an age while she stood there having a pair of slightly too big biker boots scrutinised for fit. She was certain it never normally took
her
that long to undertake a simple change of shoes.

‘They’ll do for now,’ Aidan pronounced. With a creak of leather he straightened to what, from her newly flat-footed perspective, appeared to be a very impressive height and looked down into her face. ‘But you’re definitely getting to put these back on at my place,’ he said, and tucked her ankle boots into the pannier with her other belongings and buckled it closed.

He put the helmet on her head, making a noise of approval when he wobbled it to test the fit. It was certainly snug enough that Annabel felt it compressing the sides of her face, making it feel as though she had hamster cheeks. Tightening the strap under her chin, he then produced a pair of gloves which he pushed onto her outstretched hands. He pointed out her footrests and threw a leg over the bike with his usual easy grace before turning over the engine. The thunderous rumble made her jump.

At his signal, she climbed on behind him, her breath catching at the sensation of the purring vibrations of the idling engine coming up from the saddle, not to mention the feel of Aidan Flynn, solid and male, wedged snugly between her spread legs – so intimate despite the layers of heavy-duty clothing separating them.

‘Put your arms around my waist,’ he said as he unhooked his helmet from the handlebars. She did so, tentatively, barely putting any pressure on the leather.

Twisting his torso, he turned to look over his shoulder at her. ‘Annabel, I’m not going to lie and say I’m not going to enjoy your touch, very much. But this is about your safety more than anything else. You need to get a good grip.’

She nodded. She was sitting on a giant vibrating machine clinging to Aidan Flynn and feeling like a giddy girl – of course she needed to get a good grip.

Tightening her arms around his trim waist, she felt the hardness of the man beneath the layer of soft leather. For once she couldn’t feel the heat of him, not even where their bodies were pressed together, and it made her want to snuggle further against him in search of it.

‘That’s better.’ He cast a look up to the night sky, still heavy with cloud and the threat of more sleet. ‘With any luck we’ll get a dry run.’ After he’d donned his helmet, he turned to her again. ‘Ready?’

When she gave a nod, he reached back and lowered the visor over her face; giving her a smile, he flicked down his own. She had a split second to notice that he didn’t seem to have any issue with hamster cheeks before he shifted his body over the handlebars. Clinging to his waist as she was, she had no choice but to move with him, let him take complete control. She hoped he didn’t hear the yelp she gave inside her helmet as he released the brake and the big machine sprang forward. Heart in her throat, she forgot her inhibitions and clung to him even harder. She hadn’t been on so much as a bicycle for twenty-odd years.

For the first minute she forgot to breathe. For the first five, she kept her eyes closed, hyper aware of the flex and stretch of Aidan’s movements as he manoeuvred the big bike through the streets. Less than ten minutes into the ride, she was watching the lights of the city streak past as though through a new set of eyes. Familiar sights that she hardly bothered to register on a daily basis suddenly took on a clarity they lacked when viewed through the filter of a grime-streaked bus window. The abundance of Christmas decorations and colourful store front displays appeared more vibrant, even the miles and miles of fairy lights which seemed to be draped, swagged and wrapped around every available surface twinkled with extra brightness. She felt a fierce grin push her hamster cheeks so hard into the padding of the helmet that they ached. She wouldn’t say she reached the point of relaxation, it was too exhilarating an experience for that, but thanks to the way Aidan handled the powerful machine with his usual manner of deftness and confidence, she felt no fear. She let herself lean into his back which felt solid and strong and a mile wide.

She was buzzing with speed-induced adrenaline by the time they pulled into an underground garage beneath a converted warehouse somewhere in a trendy area of East London.

Up on the fourth floor, Aidan motioned her through his front door ahead of him. She stepped into a large, open-plan space with high ceilings and huge windows – like the arty New York lofts she’d seen in movies. Rather than try to hide the working history of the building, the décor embraced it, with lots of exposed brick and pipe work, the industrial feel barely softened by large pieces of dark masculine furniture. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but nothing quite as impressive as this place, which she guessed was about three times the size of her little apartment. Modern, slick, expensive. How could Aidan Flynn afford this?

Family money, possibly? Richard Landon was wealthy after all. But if that was the case, why would Aidan need to work as a barman? Before she could decide if it would be too rude of her to ask, he indicated a door set off to the side.

‘You can change in there,’ he said, removing his jacket and pulling off a thick-knit sweater to reveal some sort of snug-fit base-layer top clinging to a torso of classically sculptured proportions that suddenly rendered everything else unimportant. Before she could get caught staring open-mouthed, she gratefully ducked inside so she could check out her own image, fearing the damage that the ride through the streets of London had wrought. While all it had taken for Aidan to look like his usual sexy ruffled self upon removing his helmet was a quick run of his hand through his black hair, she was sure she looked a right mess. The worst possible combination of hat hair and wind frizz.

She did a double take when she looked in the mirror, but not out of fright. The wind had tossed her locks so that they looked wild rather than woolly. If she’d barely been able to recognise herself earlier, she had no clue who this transformed creature was.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ she asked the stranger in the mirror. But there was no chance of a sensible answer to be had from the bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, giddily breathless girl in the mirror. ‘Don’t let yourself get lost in this. Remember to stay in control.’

As she pulled off the borrowed trousers, the zip caught on her tights and laddered them below the knee. Her hosiery didn’t seem to do too well around Aidan Flynn. Even without the sudden flush of heat that assailed her at the memory of the scene that had taken place in Cluny’s cellar, she realised the temperature in Aidan’s apartment was warm enough for her to go without.

Which was probably just as well, she decided, quickly removing the ruined tights and shoving them in her bag. If she wanted to be the one controlling what would happen tonight, it would be best not to give him any reminders of that particular encounter.